A Whole New World
by Lizzie Black
Summary: She fell into the deepest hole and she came out alive. She can't look back, can't regret her decisions. He died and woke up again, feeling soulless. Did his soul leave with her? What if fate brings them back together? Is past really forgotten? EC
1. Prologue

**A Whole New World**

**Prologue**

_Now, no matter where I am_

_No matter what I do_

_I see your face appearing_

_Like an unexpected song,_

_An unexpected song_

_That only we are hearing..._

_An Unexpected Song, by Andrew Lloyd Webber_

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Christine swung her legs out of the bed and shivered as her feet touched the cold marble. She didn't like the fact that the floor of her bedroom was covered with marble. It felt wrong, somehow – like the set of a play, close to reality but with a little something always missing.

With a sigh, she stood up and looked back towards the bed. She could see Raoul lying on the bed, his breathing even. It still disturbed her slightly that they didn't wait until marriage to share a bedroom, but it had been Raoul's wish and she really didn't have the heart to say no to him, not after everything he had done for her. And after all, it was her fault that their engagement was so long…

They had been engaged for almost four years already. Christine was sure they would have gotten married much sooner, had the circumstances been different. Christine just hadn't been ready for the marriage before and Raoul had been patient. Two months ago she had finally felt it was time to leave the past behind and so they had set a date for the wedding.

_Four months… Then I'll become Vicomtesse de Chagny._ She crossed the room and opened the door to the balcony. She could feel the soft night breeze around her as she walked to the balcony railing.

Everything was so calm and quiet. And beautiful, she realised. It truly was a beautiful night…

They were returning to Paris in three months. She had decided that her painful memories were not a good enough reason to stay away from this beautiful city. She had always wanted to get married in a small church near Paris and Raoul had a beautiful house in the city. Why leave it all because she couldn't face those memories? Three and a half years had passed, what was there for her to be afraid of?

A sudden gust of cold her made her tighten the robe around her. She wanted to make sure she was now, at last, free. Free of everything. Of the dark thoughts, painful nightmares…

It had been so hard in the beginning. About a month after their departure from Paris, she started to hear voices and see visions. Everybody thought the future Vicomtess had gone crazy and nobody knew what to do. It had kept getting worse and worse, until one day Raoul had managed to catch her on the last moment. She had been standing on the balcony railing, ready to jump, when Raoul stormed in. After that incident, she was forced to stay in her room under guidance.

Christine had very vague memories of days before her suicide attempt, and she didn't remember anything from days afterwards. She only knew about these because she had accidentally found the notebook where the nurse, who was in charge of her, had written about every change in her condition.

Christine knew now how her situation had kept getting worse and worse. Everybody, even Raoul, had been losing hope. Then, one day, she simply woke up, greeted her maid in a normal manner, dressed and went for a walk outside for the first time in two years.

Everything that happened after that day was clear in her mind. She remembered the doctor who came to see her; she remembered how shocked everyone was at this sudden recovery. There were no more nightmares, no more visions, no more strange voices that only she heard.

It had been one and a half years ago.

"Christine?"

A soft voice shook her from her thoughts and she was relieved. Her thoughts were always jumping around something much bigger, much more dangerous, something much darker. Something she had tried to remove from her mind.

"Christine, are you alright?"

She turned around and smiled at Raoul.

"Yes, I'm fine, don't worry. I just wanted some fresh air."

Raoul yawned.

"Well then, come back inside. It's cold outside. You'll catch a cold."

Christine sent one last look to the fantastic, magical nightly world around her and then followed Raoul back to the bedroom.

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	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own it. Clear? Clear. And the song doesn't belong to me either, it belongs to Madonna.

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 1_**

_Don't look back  
Keep your head held high  
Don't ask them why  
Because life is short  
And before you know  
You're feeling old  
And your heart is breaking  
Don't hold on to the past  
Well that's too much to ask_

_This Used To Be My Playground by Madonna_

-

Everything was ready: her things were packed, the carriage was waiting. Raoul was speaking to the servants, making sure the house was ready for selling.

Christine was sad that they had decided to sell the house. With the years spent there, she had grown to love it. Despite the hard times, the house still held good memories. Last few months were probably one of the happiest in her life. She was safe, there were no shadows looming in the dark corners of her mind… Or at least she wanted to believe that. And she was more than determined to actually make her beliefs true.

Yes, she still thought of _him_. Very rarely, but thought. She was sure that the memory of him would stay with her for the rest of her life; that his song would never leave her head, no matter how much she loved Raoul or how much he wanted to make her forget. She would just have to live with that.

"Christine? Where are you?"

Raoul's steady steps approached and Christine turned to look at the door. He opened the door and smiled at her.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, I am," she replied with a smile.

Together they walked out of the room.

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They sat in silence. Christine was looking out of the window, Raoul was looking at her. _My beautiful angel. I will keep you safe, my love._

_No matter what it takes, I'll keep you safe._

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Their dinner at the inn they were staying at was a silent affair. Christine was tired and Raoul's thoughts were occupied by his business in Paris. Christine went to sleep soon after dinner, but Raoul stayed up to write few letters. After a while, he, too, went to sleep next to his future wife, nothing troubling his mind.

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It was still early when Christine awoke, so she was quite surprised to see Raoul already up.

"Is something wrong?" she inquired.

"Good morning! No, nothing is wrong, why do you ask?" Raoul smiled at her and bent down to kiss her forehead.

"No, nothing, I just… I was surprised to see you up so early."

"Oh well, we should go to breakfast now, what do you think? And after breakfast we can leave as soon as possible."

Christine smiled.

"That sounds all right to me."

"Good. I'll leave you now, so you can get dressed," Raoul replied and left the room.

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After breakfast, they packed their things. They were ready to go when the old innkeeper came to talk to them.

"'Tis very nice that ye decided to stay 'ere. We don' see such beautiful young lassies very often…" the old man said, making Christine blush.

"But I 'ave to warn ye. The weather is getting worse so 'tis not a very good idea to leave now. It looks as thou' we will see snowstorm before the end of the day."

"Oh, we have fine horses, I can assure you. I'm sure we will be fine. Thank you for worrying, but we really want to be in Paris by Friday, so we must hurry," Raoul replied.

The old man nodded, said goodbye and left the room.

"Are you sure we'll be fine?" asked Christine, slightly worried.

"Don't worry. As I said, we have good horses and an experienced driver, so we have nothing to fear," Raoul assured her.

One of the servants took the bags and carried them downstairs. Raoul and Christine followed right behind. Raoul led Christine to the carriage, made sure all their bags were on and climbed in, sitting down next to extremely worried-looking Christine.

"Don't worry," he assured her again, "there is no snowstorm yet and with our luck there won't be either. Better think about that: soon, we're in Paris. You can see that house I have. It'll be your new home! And think, soon we're married and you become Vicomtess de Chagny! And think of our future children…"

Christine laid her head on Raoul's shoulder. As she listened to him describing their future children and the house they were going to move in to, a smile crept onto her face. They were going to be so happy! And softly, her eyes started to close…

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Christine woke few hours later. The snow had started to fall, so they had to drive slower because it was hard to see anything. It was now past noon, but the light was dim, thanks to the snow. And as Christine sat there, unmoving (she didn't want to wake sleeping Raoul), she noticed how more and more snow started to fall. She remembered what the innkeeper had said and was very worried. Did they have good enough horses to take the carriage through snowstorm? There wasn't a place they could stop at; they were practically in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, the carriage jerked. Christine grabbed the handle on carriage door to stop herself from falling to the floor. Her actions woke Raoul, who, too, had to steady himself and put one arm around Christine.

"What was that?" Christine asked him, frightened.

"Don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing," Raoul replied to her and even managed a small smile. But in truth he wasn't sure exactly whom he was assuring: Christine or himself.

The carriage jerked again and before they could get over the shock, it started to move quicker and quicker until it had reached the speed usually thought impossible for carriages.

They raced to what they thought was certain death. The speed got higher and higher, until she was wrenched out of Raoul's protecting arms, out of the carriage, into the soft white snow now splattered with blood.

The last thing Christine remembered before passing out was the sight of the carriage: it was completely wrecked and smashed by a big three, and next to it laid the body of the carriage driver.

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_That's the first chapter… I'm sorry because there's no Erik, but I'm afraid it will take some time before he makes his first appearance. Christine will not, I repeat NOT be found by him._

_Please read and review!_


	3. Chapter Two

AN: That's it – the second chapter. Hope you'll enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I didn't own it before and I still don't. It belongs to ALW, Gaston Leroux and some others. The song _No More Cry_ belongs to The Corrs.

-

_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 2_**

_I wanna feel just like before  
Before the rain came in my door  
Shook me up turned me around  
Made me cry till I would drown_

_No More Cry, By The Corrs_

-

Christine woke to hushed voices speaking. She couldn't understand what they were speaking about.

Suddenly, she felt a cool cloth on her forehead. Opening her eyes, she noticed a woman bending over her.

"You woke up, I see," the woman said brightly. "How are you feeling?"

And then everything came rushing back. The storm, the accident… Raoul.

"What happened?" Christine finally managed get out.

"There was an accident, dear, because –" the woman started to answer her.

"Yes, I know, I mean how did I get here?" Christine interrupted her. It was rude, she knew, but she was too worried and confused to think about politeness.

"Well, Pierre – my husband – went out and he noticed the carriage. When he went to see closer, he saw that you were still alive and brought you here."

"Does that mean that Raoul and the driver are… are dead?" Christine's voice was wavering.

_Oh God, please, no…_

"I'm afraid so, yes. There were two bodies. Was one of the men your fiancé or husband?" the woman asked, her eyes sad.

"Yes…" Christine choked out.

Everything was twirling and she couldn't see straight. _Raoul is dead. Dead. That's all. He's dead. _Just a moment ago she had been praying, hoping against all odds that there was a chance he was still alive. And now…

The pain was too much. She couldn't take it. Now, when everything had been going alright at last. They were going to marry and all would've been well. Now it had to happen… The room around her started to turn, the woman with a friendly face was seemingly moving away. She was falling, falling into a dark hole, falling away from the room until she didn't see it any more.

-

Too much light… there was too much light.

Christine was forced to open her eyes.

She would have given everything to at least temporarily forget where she was and why she was there. But she didn't forget. Oh no, she remembered everything, she remembered too well.

Raoul was dead.

Somebody approached her bed and she found herself once again looking into the eyes of the friendly woman she had talked to earlier.

"You are awake, my dear. Are you better now?"

Better? What did better _mean_? She was broken, she had no reason to live – but physically she did feel better than before.

"I think so…" was Christine's barely audible response.

"That's good, my dear. Now, I don't believe we have been introduced, have we? My name's Anita. As I said, my husband's name is Pierre. And you are - ?"

"Christine. My name is Christine Daaé."

"Alright then. Now, drink this, please," Anita said as she handed Christine a cup of peppermint tea.

"It's nice and calming. Then you should rest a little bit more. Tomorrow we'll call the doctor, to make sure you are all right."

Christine just nodded and didn't say anything else. She couldn't have, even if she would have wanted to. But she didn't want. She had nothing to say.

-

It took her two weeks to recover. And then, so suddenly and unexpectedly for her, she was fine. She understood that there was no way she could stay with Anita and Pierre. They had done enough to her, had helped her very much. She couldn't possibly ask anything else from them. She had to leave.

That was when Christine understood that she had no-one to go to. Raoul's parents were dead and his brother Philippe lived in Italy. Christine knew he didn't think her an appropriate wife for the Vicomte de Chagny and that he had never liked her, so there was no way he would help her.

That would leave only Mme. Giry and Meg, but Christine hadn't seen Meg since the night of Don Juan, and that was more than three years ago. She couldn't possibly go to her now, asking for help! No, she had to manage on her own.

Her only chance was to find herself a job and begin a new life. Not as a singer or anything, of course. She would find herself a job as a maid or something. She was sure she would manage that, because she had done most of the chores when she lived with her father.

Christine was surprised at how easily she welcomed her decision. _I suppose I wasn't born to be a Vicomtess, after all…_

Anita told her that she didn't know anyone who needed a maid, but she promised to contact her sister, who had a little bakery. Perhaps she would need extra help.

Mme. Joules, Anita's sister, didn't need anybody, but one of her maids was going to London to work for an older lady and if Christine wanted, she could go as well.

Christine said yes quickly, so she wouldn't have time to rethink. And with that, it was settled.

A week later, she was on her way to London with two other girls, Isabella and Louise. She had no idea what lied ahead, but she knew that her old life was now past.

And a new and better one awaited her.

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**Mademoiselle P**: Thank you very-very much! You're my first reviewer and for that, I will always love you!

Christine and Raoul had been engaged for three and a half years. That means she left the Opera about three years ago (or even less). The crash was caused by storm; I will probably mention it again in later chapters. Once again, thank you very much and I hope you enjoy this, too!

_That's it for today. Hope you liked it and please review. It means a lot to me!_

_**07.04.05 **– I updated it again to fix the formatting had erased and also fix some minor details. Enjoy!_

_**08.04.05 **– The formatting must stay, or I'll be very angry and I'll probably Punjab someone!_


	4. Chapter Three

AN: Here's another chapter for you! I hope you all like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I don't own it, I don't own it… It belongs to Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and ALW. Harder To Breathe is Maroon 5's.

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 3_**

_When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love  
You'll understand what I mean when I say  
There's no way we're gonna give up  
And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams  
Is there anyone out there cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe_..._  
_

_Harder To Breathe, by Maroon 5_

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"You are Christine, right?" asked Isabelle, one of the two girls who were going to London with her.

Christine nodded, turning her eyes back to the sea.

„I heard about the accident. I'm terribly sorry. You know, my brother is the police officer's assistant, so he went there and all... He said that the carriage didn't look like a carriage any more, it had been so wrecked. It must have been terrible accident. But I wondered that if the man, Vicomte de Chagny, was your fiancé, then why… why are you here?"

Christine didn't believe her ears. Didn't the girl know anything about being polite? She was about to answer something cold when her eyes fell to the girl's anxious face. She was very young, not older than fifteen or sixteen. Looking at her made Christine miss Meg. _So much time has passed since I last had someone to confide in…_

So instead of giving the reply she had originally intended to, Christine just sighed and told her the truth.

"My fiancé's brother, his only living relative, does not like me. He wanted nothing to do with me, and as me and Raoul were not yet married, there is nothing that will make him help me. He doesn't have to – there is not one rule that says he should."

"Oh…" said Isabelle, before she, too, turned her attention to the sea.

After some time of silence, she spoke again.

"I know I shouldn't have brought up the whole accident thing, but it fascinated me so. And when I heard that the tree you crashed into was the same tree where I always used to play with friends when I was a little younger, I just couldn't resist!"

"The carriage crashed into a tree? I… didn't know," said Christine, realising she didn't actually know anything about the accident. She had been thinking about Raoul and never bothered to ask about the accident itself.

"How come you didn't know?" Isabelle asked, clearly surprised.

"I suppose I only had room for Raoul in my mind, so I never asked…" Christine told her sheepishly.

"Oh, I understand. I'll tell you then, alright?" Isabelle asked and after seeing Christine nod, she continued: "Well, as you probably guessed, the whole accident was caused by the storm. The police officer guessed that first the carriage started sliding on the icy road. The carriage was so heavy that it started sliding off road, down the hill. Did I already mention that you were riding on the edge of a hill? Well, then the horses somehow managed to come free, and the carriage slid down the hill, into a tree. But you were lucky – the door on your side of carriage opened and you flew out, so you didn't get hurt in the crash itself." Isabelle then looked at Christine.

"Am I making any sense at all? Because I've been told that I'm a very poor storyteller – I mess things up and start from the middle," she said.

"No, I can understand you quite well. So you say that I flew out because my door was unlocked?" Christine asked the young girl.

"Yes. That's why you were quite all right, when the others… died. You flew into soft snow but the other two got fatal injuries in the collision, when they flew against strong objects. The carriage moved so fast and the crash had so much power, you see, that the tree is now slanting."

Isabelle then noticed Christine's paleness.

"Mon dieu, are you feeling bad? Do you want to lie down?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

"Yes, I would like to lie down… I suppose it is just seasickness, and nothing else," Christine replied quietly.

In truth, it was the accident that made her feel sick. She didn't understand why she had wanted to know – it had been so better when she didn't have the faintest idea of what had happened. But now she already knew.

And there was no running from reality.

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It was dawn when they arrived to London. The first rays of light played on rooftops and birds were singing.

Christine had no idea what they were to do next, but Louise, always certain of herself, guided the other girls through the people to an older man.

"Hello! Are you three the maids for Lady Matthew?" he asked, in slightly accented French.

"Yes, we are," replied Louise, while Isabelle and Christine just watched and listened.

"Very well then. I'm Andrew, Lady Matthew's butler and right hand. You are to obey to my commands. Is that clear?" the man asked sternly.

The three girls nodded silently.

"All right then. Please follow me," and with that, Andrew the butler turned around and started walking.

Trying their best to keep up, the three young girls hurried along.

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The carriage ride wasn't very long and soon they stopped in front of a great house.

"Come on, come on. We don't have much time," said Andrew, ushering them inside.

"I'll show you your rooms. Please follow me."

They followed the butler up the stairs and around a corner. Then there were stairs again and then a long corridor, which ended with stairs. And they just kept on walking.

After a fifth turn around another corner, Christine was rather sure she will get lost in this house. _It's not a house; it's more like a castle!_

Finally, they stopped in front of a little wooden door. Opening it, Andrew said: "This is your room. You can put your things away now. You can also find your uniforms in the room."

The girls nodded and quietly entered the room.

It was a small room, with one window. The only parts of furniture were a wardrobe and three beds. Overall, the room was very nice and Christine decided she liked it.

"You have free time until 9 am. Then I shall be waiting for you in the hall, to give you the lists of your duties and to make sure you know all the rules," Andrew added before leaving the room.

Christine dumped all her few belongings on one of the beds and lied down next to them. The bed wasn't as comfortable as the one she had owned when she was about to become the Vicomtess, but there was no reason to complain, it was what she had chosen.

Her new life had begun today.

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**Broken-Mask – **I'm happy that you like it. Erik will come in in two chapters, if everything goes as planned. It's a while, I know, but it is important for the story. And yes, poor, poor Raoul indeed…

Thanks for reviewing and I hope you enjoyed this!

**Countess Alana – **I'm glad you like it. I hope this chapter explained things better for you!

Thank you very much for reviewing, I hope you liked this chapter!

_Thank you all for reading and especially big thanks and hugs to those who reviewed, your reviews made me very glad! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please, review as well, even if it is only to say that you don't like it at all. Feedback is very important and I'd like to know what you think about this story. Also, if there's someone who could be my beta, I would appreciate it very much, because it seems I've lost my beta. _

_Thanks again and please, do review!_


	5. The First Interlude

AN: I'm very, very, very sorry for not updating before. But I hope you'll forgive me, because this chapter, no, interlude, only has Erik in it. The idea came to me yesterday and I just had to write it down. However, thanks to this, the next actual chapter will be up soon, because I have a quite big part of it already written. One more thing: is there anyone who would have the will and time to become my beta? I don't seem to have much luck in this department lately…

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only dream of it… All characters and such belong to Monsieur Leroux, Lord Lloyd Webber and Mrs. Susan Kay. The song used belongs to Mary Chapin Carpenter.

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_The First Interlude_**

_There is someone in his past that he hasn't gotten over yet  
Each day's like the last, he just misses what he can't forget  
It's just an empty space where something used to be  
Now he guards the gate, but he's lost the key  
So no one enters, but no one leaves   
There's a keeper for every flame_...

_A Keeper for Every Flame, by Mary Chapin Carpenter_

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The great stone mansion was quiet and asleep, save for one person. The master of the house himself.

He paced in his study, occasionally stopping to take a sip from the glass on the large oak desk. The whiskey didn't taste half as good as his favoured French wine, but it was tolerable.

Once again, he wasn't able to sleep. He had gotten used to it by now. After all, he had always thought about himself as a more nocturnal creature. Daylight did not suit him.

It was at night when his inspiration came to him. The sounds of night were quickly transformed into notes, as his hands flew over the ivory keys. Sadly, it was also at night when she came to his mind.

His Angel.

Her face, her voice… It had been three years, and still he wasn't able to forget. Why did she torture him so? He had let her go, so why did she keep haunting him?

What did she want from him?

He knew it was pointless to blame anyone but himself. It was he, and only he who had fallen. Only he himself could make him forget. And he hadn't forgotten.

Did he _want_ to forget?

Yes, of course he did. Why did he even doubt it? She was gone, and she wasn't coming back. It was time for him to move on.

But wasn't this exactly what he had been doing for the past three years? Trying to move on?

At first, he had wanted to die. But the cruel fate didn't let him. And he wasn't going to kill himself. For him, suicide was the coward's way out.

So, he had _moved on_. Taking all of his money and his most precious possessions, he had gone to England to start life anew.

Now, three years later, he was a well-known composer. But his operas were not as terribly passionate as _Don Juan_ had been. No, in fact, they were quite ordinary. Or as ordinary as operas written by musical geniuses can be. Meaning they were fantastic, brilliant, amazing. Meaning people loved them. But for him, they were nothing special. He couldn't even remember the names of some of them.

He should have been happy: for once in his life, people saw him as the genius he actually was. But he wasn't happy.

Those people didn't know the _real _him. They only knew him as an eccentric, masked composer, who lived alone in a large stone manor. He had few friends, and tended to keep away from people.

And tonight he had received the message that one of his few friends had died.

He did not know what to do. The old lady had been sick for quite some time now, and he had known she would die soon. But still, now that it had happened, he felt as if someone had broken his heart again. Shattered it to thousand pieces. And he had no idea how to put these pieces back together.

So here he was, trying to make himself numb to the pain.

Suddenly he turned, throwing the glass he had been holding against the opposite wall. He watched with morbid satisfaction as the glass shattered to little pieces.

What a perfect portrayal of his life.

Stepping over the shards of glass, he slowly walked to the window. It was still dark outside, but he knew that soon it would be morning. He would go to sleep only to be woken a few hours later by his faithful servant. Then, he would drink a cup of tea, and perhaps even eat something. After reading the mail, which mostly consisted of invitations to the opera premieres and letters from the opera house manager all around Europe, he would go up to the music room. Then he would compose for a few hours. Usually he would write things that were expected from him, but sometimes he would write something for himself. Those songs would be forgotten and he would go on as if they never existed. But in truth, those were the only pieces of music where he put his soul into.

It was a diary never to be read again.

After composing, he would go and take a ride with one of his horses. Which was it going to be this time? Lightning or Trophé? Cesar or Black?

After riding, he would come back to the house. He would eat a little and then go to his study, to answer to letters and send out his operas.

Taking his mask off, he let out a hollow laughter. It was always the same. And it would stay the same 'till the day he died. He would always be alone…

_Enough misery for one night_.

Reprimanding himself for wallowing in those pointless thoughts, he replaced the mask on his face.

Turning back to the window, he was no longer Erik, the passionate man who had written _Don Juan Triumphant_. He was now Lord Destler, the cold and aloof man who lived alone in the huge manor. The man, who was usually avoided by others.

That was what he truly wanted, to be left in peace.

Right?

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**Sazi: **Here you go, lots and lots of Erik in this part! Thank you for reviewing!

**sbkar: **Thank you for all you reviews! Hmm, I wonder, _who_ does Christine miss? Hehe, that's way too easy to guess…

Yes, accidents happen. And they have no-one to blame but themselves. Always heed the warning of those older than you!

This person she works for has the tendency of hiring maids to help them out of trouble. It'll be explained better in the next chapter. And at that point, everything makes her happy.

Once again, thank you for reviewing and I hope you like this chapter!

_Big thank you's to all who read. Please review and let me know what you think!_


	6. Chapter Four

AN: On time! I can't believe it! But anyway, read, enjoy and review, please!

Disclaimer: Repeating myself gets boring after a while. But still, I don't own it. It belongs to ALW, GL and SK. Happy now, all you lawyers out there? Oh, and the song belongs to ALW, as well.

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 4_**

_Anything but lonely,  
Anything but empty rooms  
There's so much in life to share -  
What's the sense when no one else is there?_

_Anything But Lonely, by Andrew Lloyd Webber_

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Christine stood alone in the ballroom. The once impressive and beautiful room was now empty and forgotten. No-one had danced here for many, many years. But Lady commanded that the room was to be kept clean.

With a sigh, Christine began to clean the dusty room.

It was eerily silent. The ballroom was in the west wing of the house and anybody rarely came here. But Christine wished there would be some noise, just something to keep her from her thoughts.

Outside, the snow was falling softly. Looking out of the window, Christine smiled softly. She could remember that night so long ago, on the rooftop of the Paris Opera. The night Raoul had told her that he loved her. It had been snowing, as well.

_Share each day with me, each night, each morning…_

_Say you love me - you know I do. _

_Love me, that's all I ask of you._

Christine felt a sharp jab of pain in her heart. _He promised me he'll always be there… That he will always love me – and now, he's gone. He broke his promise._

_He broke his promise._

He had left her, and now she was alone in the world.

_How could he do this to me? _

Christine raised her arms and turned her eyes to the ceiling.

"Why, Raoul? Why did you leave me? Why?" she asked, as if he was there, watching her.

She hated him for doing that to her. He had promised to always be there and then he had left her alone. _They all have left me…My father, Raoul and…my Angel_._ Why? Why, why, why, why?_

"I hate you!" she screamed on top of her lungs, not sure to who it was addressed, before falling to the floor, sobbing.

She didn't know if she had been lying there for five or fifty minutes, when she became aware of someone else's presence in the room.

Sitting up, she found herself looking into the eyes of Mme. Perrault, the elderly French housekeeper, who also was the next in command after Andrew, the butler.

"I… I'm sorry, I'll get back to work… I'm very sorry…" Christine stammered and started to stand up.

But Mme. Perrault's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"My husband died ten years ago, in an accident. He fell from his horse. When doctors first told me that he's dead, I didn't believe them. It took some time to make me believe them.

When I finally realised that they were telling the truth, I didn't cry. I didn't spill a single tear. I went home and closed myself into my room. I felt so empty and I still didn't quite realise what was going on.

After the funeral, the anger came. I hated him for leaving me, I hated him with all my heart. All I could think about was why did he do this to me? He had said that he loved me. And when you love someone, you don't just leave them, do you? But he did exactly that – he left me alone.

Everyone around me said that they understand; that it's alright to feel this way. But they didn't really understand. No-one did. Only those who have gone through the same pain can understand what you are feeling."

Christine stared at her. What did she mean by telling her all of this?

Then Mme. Perrault started to get up.

"You are excused from your work for the rest of the day. I'll send Lorette to clean this room. But make sure that Andrew does not notice you are not working. He wouldn't appreciate it. And if you need me, you know where to find me, ma cherie." And with that, Mme. Perrault left the room, leaving a very confused Christine behind.

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Days passed and Christine got more and more used to the life as a maid. She got along pretty well with the other maids. There were five of them: Isabelle, Louise, Lorette, Lauren and herself. All were French and Lorette and Lauren were sisters.

Mme. Perrault had explained that most of the staff was French because Lady Matthew herself was French. After marrying an English lord, she had moved to England. And to not forget French and also help out young girls and boys in her homeland, she started to hire staff from France. She had a member of the household tour little country villages once in a year, searching for new maids and footmen. And as time passed, in some villages one of the older ladies started to make lists so when the annual tour came, all young lads and lassies who had at least some skill in household jobs and who needed or wanted to get away from France, would get a chance to join the Matthew household.

Lord Matthew was long since dead and the almost-empty house didn't actually need to have so many people take care of it. But Lady Matthew kept the tradition. Christine was thankful that it was so. Lady's strange habit had given her a chance for a new life.

Christine had been in the Matthew household for exactly two months when Lady Matthew started to show first signs of her illness. A doctor was fetched and a nurse employed.

But the neither the doctor nor the nurse could stop the inevitable. Lady Matthew was already very old and had always had a fragile health. So all the doctor, nurse and staff could do was ease her pain.

Two weeks after showing first signs of illness, Lady Matthew died.

Christine wasn't sure what she should feel. She was unsure about her own future and sad at the loss of her mistress, but that's where her feelings ended. She hadn't even spoken to the Lady, so there were no personal feelings. And she was quite sure the situation was similar for most of the staff.

A day after the funeral, Andrew gathered them all in the drawing room. The staff, five maids, three footmen, a cook and a kitchen boy, were all nervously standing while Andrew and Mme. Perrault sat. Between them, a short and bald man was sitting comfortably in Lady Matthew's favourite armchair.

Andrew broke the silence that had taken over the room.

"This is Lady Matthew's lawyer, Mr. Harris. He has come to explain her testament to us."

Mr. Harris coughed slightly and seemed to shrink underneath the stares that were now fixed on him. Lorette started to say something, but was quickly silenced by a glare from Mme. Perrault.

"Ahem. Yes… As Mr. Robbins said, I am - was - Lady Matthew's lawyer," The bald man said.

Christine was momentarily confused as to who exactly was Mr. Robbins, but after a moment she understood that it was probably the butler's last name.

"… so to put it shortly, all of her wealth goes to a dear friend of hers. And you all can go and work in the house of that man. I have contacted him and he said that at this point, he has no use for this house. He will rent it out. But you all are welcome to work at his mansion, if you wish. You will be paid well, probably even better than here, because the master of that house is known for his generosity. And if you do not wish to work for him, we will find you new jobs. Lady Matthew ensured that you will be cared for," Mr. Harris ended his speech.

Christine thought about it for a moment. She knew that it was almost impossible for her to find another job as good as the one she had now. She was a foreigner and her grasp of English was still only enough to understand but not to speak. She had only two and a half months worth of experience as a maid.

Yes, she would work for that Lord Destler, whoever he was.

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_I'm sorry for not bringing Erik in, but I have intended to bring him in the next chapter since the beginning. I was close to changing my plans, but instead I gave a whole chapter full of Erik. If he was in here, it would've ended with a cliff-hanger. And this way you'll get the next chapter sooner. _

_I'm going to Italy on 7th of June. Then I won't be back for about a month. I want to get ten chapters up before I leave. This way you will all have something to read and when I come back from Italy, I will have new chapters ready for you. I hope it's alright with you._

_I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please leave me a review before you go!_

**AJNemo: **Yes, I know it starts out a bit too slow. That's a bad habit of mine; all my stories tend to take time to actually get into the action. But I'm glad you still kept reading and that you like it. Thank you for you review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

PS: I thought so too, that's why I put it there. :D

**bobmcbobbob1: **Yes, ffdotnet can be a pain in the ass when it goes into read-only mode… I'm glad that in the end you did manage to review, though.

I always imagined that when Erik did get out of his cellar, he would live in some manor far-far away from people. And that he would be so lonely there…

Now, about beta-ing. I would be very glad if you'd agree to do this. You see, I have lots of trouble with grammar, because English is not my first language and I haven't learned it for very long. So I guess that's what I need help with. And repetition, another great problem of mine. I tend to use the same word and phrases to often. Aaaaand it would also be nice to get some advice about the story itself. About whether things are flowing well or not, or if I use clichés… You know, that sort of stuff. Not much. Or actually, now that I re-read what I've written, it seems to be _very_ much. But anyways, if you're still interested, tell me so and I'll e-mail you; or you can e-mail me at gottabelikeyou at hotmail dot com.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for reviewing!

PS: I love your stories!

**Captain Oblivious: **Merci beaucoup pour ce commentaire. Malheureusement, je ne parle pas Français très bien. And that's why I'll switch to English from here.

I know my grammar is a bit… limping, shall we say? But I'll promise to work on it. And I'll try to avoid repetition. Je répète, merci beaucoup et j'espère tu plais ce chapitre.

**Razzy: **Thank you very much for your review. I'm very flattered that you like my ideas. I think maid's job was one of the few Christine could have taken, because for obvious reason, she doesn't want to sing. She was never a good dancer and I think that overall, she wouldn't want to go anywhere near an opera house. And there isn't very many other things she could do. The reason why I chose England is because it will be easier, with Erik being a composer and all that. The Paris Opera would never take any compositions from a masked composer, unless they knew for sure that he was safe.

Thanks again for your compliment and I hope you liked this chapter!

PS: I love your story!

_Thank you for reading and please review!_


	7. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I still don't own it. ALW, SK, GL and The Corrs own almost everything here.

_**14.11.05 – **Made some minor corrections._

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 5_**

_Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions.  
I keep my visions to myself…  
It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams and   
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?  
_

_Dreams, by The Corrs_

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_She was running in darkness, unable to find her way. Why, oh why did he build this labyrinth? She had to get there before it happened. Before anything happened…_

_Darkness didn't favour her_._ It was doing everything to stop her from achieving her goal_. _But she didn't give up_. _She just kept running…_

_She was standing in a big and beautiful room. Its walls seemed to glitter and shine. And all around her, couples were dancing. She was standing alone, in a swirl of dresses, listening to the laughter and chatter of people around her_. _And yet she was crying_. _Grieving for something, someone she hadn't known_. _Crying for everything and everyone, crying for the people around her, crying for the man who had suddenly appeared next to her and crying for the laughing and dancing girls… Crying for the world she had lost_.

Christine woke to find Isabelle watching her worriedly. Three other occupants of the carriage seemed to be asleep. Christine brought a hand to her cheek, even though she already knew there were tears on her face.

She had had the dream many times before, and had long ago stopped trying to understand what it meant. But she wasn't happy that she'd seen it today, when she was supposed to meet her new master. It wasn't a good omen, and she knew it.

"Are you alright, Christine?" Isabelle asked in a hesitant voice, as if unsure whether it was appropriate or not.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," answered Christine, turning from her friend. She didn't want to be questioned – she wasn't ready for the answers.

They were silent for the rest of the ride.

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It was already dark when they finally arrived. Christine could only see the contours of the house and it seemed even bigger that Lady Matthews's had been. Getting out of the carriage, she felt apprehension and nervousness.

Stretching her back, she tried to get a better look at the house. It was an old habit of her – to try to guess the owner's personality by looking at his or hers home. She had been too tired to try it when she first saw Lady Matthew's house, but this time she wanted to give it a try.

There wasn't much that she could guess about the owner. The house seemed even bigger when looking closer. It was imposing, but beautiful.

Christine saw Mr. Harris come out from the third carriage. He walked to Mme. Perrault, who was standing with Lorette and Lauren not too far from Christine herself. Mme. Perrault said something to the girls and then walked a few steps further away from them. The exchanged a few words and the Mme. Perrault came back to the twin girls.

"Come here, everyone!" said Mme. Perrault. Andrew wasn't there, so everyone obeyed to her. The butler, along with Louise, a footman called Thomas and the cook, had decided not to join the Destler household.

"I and Mr. Harris will go inside. All of you," she slid her eyes over them all, "will wait here. You're not to go anywhere without permission. Anyone found wandering in the gardens or just around the house will be punished. Is that clear?"

There was a collective murmur of "yes", after which Mme. Perrault turned and walked towards the house with Mr. Harris.

Isabelle turned to Christine.

"Why do think do we have to stay here?"

"I don't know," responded Christine. "Perhaps they want us to be ready to come as soon as we're called. Maybe they want us to start the tonight."

"I don't think so. She would've just told us to be ready to come as soon as she calls. But she said that we'll be punished, if we don't obey. It has got to be something else. Maybe there are some secrets hidden in this garden that the owner doesn't want us to know about…" said Isabelle, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

"Oh, you just have a wild imagination. They probably just don't want us to wander around."

"That's exactly the point: why don't they want us to wander? There has to be something…"

But Christine wasn't listening any more. She wasn't even there any more. In her mind, she had travelled to a time long left behind… To a time, when she had said a sentence quite similar to the one she'd used right now.

"_Oh, come on, Meg! Ghosts don't exist! It was probably just some joke made by the stagehands!"_

"_Well, this one could've been_._ But the Ghost does exist! I've seen him!"_

"_It was just your wild imagination playing tricks on your mind_._"_

"_No, it wasn't! You'll see, Christine, that I'm right…"_

_And indeed, Meg had been right_._ Could she again the one to foolishly discard someone's opinion that later ended up being right? Could Isabelle be right…?_

Christine was shaken out of her thoughts by Mme Perrault, who had apparently come back.

"Come on! We are expected to go in!"

Everybody gathered his or her personal belongings and followed Mme Perrault to the door.

The large oak doors were opened by a man dressed in what seemed like some sort of a uniform. He was standing very straight. Next to him stood Mr Harris, looking more nervous than ever.

Christine and the other were ushered to a line by an elderly lady, who seemed to be the housekeeper or something like that.

It was the first time when it struck Christine how odd the arrangement really was. They were coming to a house, which already seemed to have a whole staff. What were they going to do here? Or perhaps the whole thing had some other reason, unknown to her and the others?

_Stop it, Christine. You're starting to be like Isabelle, blowing things out of proportion. Be happy that you got the chance and shut up._

Maybe that really was the best idea. So instead of pondering over it, she turned her attention to Mr Harris, Mme Perrault and the man by the door, who seemed to be arguing over something.

"But he has to sign! It's important!" said extremely agitated Mr Harris.

"I'm sorry, but my Master cannot be distracted at the moment. You will have to wait." Uniformed man (who Christine assumed to be the butler) remained cool and didn't raise his voice, even though the little advocate was almost screaming.

"I can't wait! It has to be signed NOW!"

"I'm afraid that will not happen. If you'll excuse me for a moment," said the butler, made a little bow and then walked over to the elderly lady who was standing with the young maids and others. He whispered a few words to her, she nodded and then he turned and walked back to Mr Harris and Mme Perrault.

Christine watched this little exchange with curiosity: what was it all about?

Her unvoiced question was answered when the lady standing with them wordlessly motioned them to follow.

Christine felt a strange sense of _déjà vu _as they took one turn after another. _All this has already happened…_

After what seemed like an eternity to impatient youths, they finally stopped.

"My name is Mrs Hutchison, and I'm the housekeeper. I give you the orders from my master and those you must fulfil with. Everything I or he says you must do. Disobedience is not allowed. Do you understand or should I repeat myself?"

There was a murmur of understanding from the young staff.

"Tomorrow, you'll be awakened 4 am, have a quick breakfast and then each of you shall receive a list of duties, which should all be finished before 10 am. After that you are free until 2 pm, when additional duties are given to you. You are probably used to doing more work, but the lack of duties doesn't mean that you can take your work easily. Master has agreed to employ you all on the conditions you had with your previous employer, but if you fail to impress him, things can get much worse for you. Have I made myself clear?"

She looked at them sternly. No-one dared say a word.

"I take it you don understand me. Now, I will read a list of names. If you hear your name, you'll come with me. The rest of you stay behind until someone comes and shows you your rooms. Now… Boulanger, Boulanger, Daaé, Dubois and…" Mrs Hutchison stood there for a moment, looking at the list in her hands. "Actually, that's it. You four, follow me."

Christine expected another long hike through the impossibly big house, but to her surprise, they only had to turn around one corner before they finally stopped in front of a door. The housekeeper opened the door. Behind it lay a little room with white walls and four beds.

"That's your room. Suit yourselves. You'll be called to kitchen at eight, to meet with other staff and have your dinner."

With that, she turned and left the room.

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"Master? May I come in?"

"I thought I had made myself clear. I'm not to be disturbed until dinner."

"Yes sir, I understand, and I said this to Mr Harris, but he demands you come down and see him."

"Who the hell is Mr Harris, John? What does he want from me? And you may come in."

Erik sat down at his table as John, his personal servant and butler walked in.

"Sir, Mr Harris is Lady Matthew's lawyer. He accompanied the servants here."

"They weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow, were they? So why are they here already?"

"I don't know, sir. But they arrived. The staff are currently waiting outside."

"Let them come in. Amanda can show them to their rooms. And tell this Mr Harris, that I will not meet him before tomorrow. Anything he wants to tell me, he can tell you. And I don't want to be disturbed again."

"Yes, sir." John bowed and quietly left the room, leaving Erik alone again.

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Erik was pacing the room and thinking about his next opera when there was once again a knock on his door.

"What is it now?" he asked, not even trying to hide the exasperation in his voice.

The door opened, revealing Amanda Hutchison, his housekeeper. She stepped in and closed the door behind her.

"I'm sorry, sir, I know you don't want to be -"

"What _is _it, Amanda?" he said sharply to her, tired of explanations.

"Mr Harris wants you to come down. He says it's important that you sign some papers. He refuses to leave. We offered him a chance to stay overnight and talk to you tomorrow, but he didn't agree. He demands to meet you-"

She was cut short when the door opened again and in stormed Mr Harris, followed closely by John, who immediately turned to Erik.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't stop him. He just didn't listen to me!"

Erik nodded to him and walked over to his desk, sitting down behind it.

"Now, what was this mess all about?" he said to Mr Harris, who was standing in front of Erik's table, panting and sweaty.

The advocate was visibly intimidated by his presence and seemed to be having second thoughts.

"I um… I just need you to, um, sign these papers, indicating that you have employed these and people and, um, agree to all terms set by Lady Matthew…"

"And this is it? Well, kindly give those papers to me, then," Erik said with a smirk on his face. _The little man is so frightened… and I haven't even done anything!_

With shaking hands, Mr Harris handed the papers to the man in front of him.

Erik quickly read them over and was about to sign it, when a name on the list of his employees-to-be caught his attention.

_Mademoiselle Christine Daaé_

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I am so terribly sorry. But please, read my explanation. My absence actually had a reason other than laziness, with usually is the case with me…

First, I know I never put up those chapters. Well, that's because there was major change of plans. We had planned to move into our new house right after coming back from Italy, but we had to move out of our old house before leaving. So, the last week before our departure to Italy was a whirlwind of packing and cleaning and so on. After coming back, we were told that our new house will not be ready until the beginning of July, which meant we had to leave our things in a warehouse and move into a hotel with only the most necessary things. My PC (on which the files for AWNW are) was not one of these, as we didn't have much room.

The house still isn't completely finished (even though it's November now), but we moved in in the middle of August, tired of living in hotels and rented flats. I managed to finally set up my PC in the middle of October, that's when I started writing this chapter. However, we didn't have Internet until they set it up three days ago.

So now, after five months of absence, I finally updated. But the thing is, that I'm leaving for Vienna tomorrow and I won't be back for a week. So I'm afraid the next update will have to wait a bit, too.

Thanks to all who have stayed with me. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and please review!

One more thing: I will never, _ever _leave this story. I will finish it, even if it takes years. We just all have to hope it doesn't… :D

**Razzy: **Well, someone reviewed, telling that they thought the story started too slowly. I think that's why I rushed that chapter. I know that I shouldn't have, and I plan on rewriting the chapter (the whole story, actually) when I have enough time.

I'm glad you like that. I tried to make it as realistic as possible and I was a bit worried about it.

You're not the only one… :D And he's here as you can see. The name comes from the Robert Englund movie, I think. I haven't seen it myself, but some told me about it. The name "Destler" is also the most common name for Erik here on ffdotnet.

I am terribly sorry for the wait, but I hope you understand. Thanks for reviewing!

**Captain Oblivious: **Oh, actually it was very good for me, as I got to practise my French. At least a little bit.:D I'm glad you like the story!

Thank you for reviewing and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Phantomann: **Thank you for your compliments! I'm sorry I disappointed you, but when real life decides to intertwine, there really isn't much to do…

Thanks for reviewing and I hope you continue to read this story!

**Bobmcbobbob1: **They'll meet in the next chapter, it didn't fit in here. About Lady Matthew: well, you'll learn about it. Probably not in the next chapter or maybe even not in the one after that, but it will come. It's already a part of the plot I have planned.

Thanks!

**Obsessedwiththephantom: **Thank you very much! I hope you like this chapter!

**Triplet075: **Well, I'm afraid I made you wait a long time for an update. But it's here at last and I hope you enjoyed it.

Thank you for reviewing!

**Tex110: **Hehe, that's always good to hear. Here's the next chapter!


	8. Chapter Six

AN: The old thing: is anyone willing to beta for me? If yes, then please contact me at gottabelikeyou at hotmail dot com. I promise not to disappear for several months…

Disclaimer: I'm still waiting for the miracle to happen. Until it does, I don't own POTO. It still belongs to Messieurs Leroux and Webber and Madame Kay. Mademoiselle McLachlan owns the song used.

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 6_**

_What ravages of spirit  
conjured this temptuous rage  
created you a monster  
broken by the rules of love…_

_Do What You Have To Do by Sarah McLachlan_

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_Christine Daaé._

For a moment, the world around him seemed to stop.

At that moment, all his painful memories came back. Her voice, her face... The way she smiled, the sound of her laughter…

_The feeling of her lips against his…_

… and the hurt and betrayal as she had ripped the mask from his face. The fear in her eyes as she had looked at him. She screaming at him, she kissing Raoul on the rooftop…

_Stop it._

He forced himself to read the paper again. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it was some other name; perhaps he had imagined all this.

But no such luck. It was clearly written there: Mademoiselle Christine Daaé

That's when he understood the reason for the nagging feeling in the back of his head.

It was the _wrong name_.

Christine no longer was Daaé. She had married that wretched boy, _Le Vicomte_ _de Chagny_.

She was the Vicomtess now.

This woman on the list was someone else, who just happened to have a similar name. _But of course the wretched girl has to end up in my household…When will you stop haunting me, Angel?_

He signed the paper and handed it back to Mr Harris.

The little nervous advocate sighed with relief as he watched Lord Destler sign the paper. The strange masked man had hesitated, if only for a second. But the time was enough for the advocate to start to worry: maybe something was wrong or…

But he had signed.

Thus, Mr Harris decided his work was finished.

Taking the paper, he muttered a few remarks about having to hurry home and so on and had already opened the door to exit, when lord Destler's voice stopped him.

"What can you tell me about the background of these people I have hired?"

"Their background? Er… Well, they are all very respectable and I can assure you they don't steal or-"

"I was thinking more along the lines of where they come from, who are their parents."

"Well, er, they're all from France… Probably daughters and sons of peasants or something like that. Lower class people, of course. I… I don't know much more."

"I see. Thank you. You may leave. " The last sentence was accompanied with a dismissive gesture. Taking the hint, John and Amanda left, too, having first made sure that their Master didn't wish for anything more tonight.

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Erik found it hard to concentrate that night. No matter what he did, her image was always on his mind.

For three years had he fought for freedom. Freedom from those memories that kept coming back. And yet it seemed as nothing was achieved. She was still there, a constant presence in his mind. Always torturing him.

He had tried to forget her. Oh, how he had tried!

He had discovered that there were women who were willing to touch him. Even kiss him, had he allowed them to. It cost, of course, but such a trivial thing didn't matter to him.

So, for the one and half years he had spent living in this house countless women had shared his bed. First for the money, of course. Later he learned to use his spell on them, making them want him.

Looking back, he realised that he couldn't name one out of them all.

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Instead of going to his bedroom, he went to the music room. Not the one in which he composed all his new operas. No, this one was a secret room no-one knew about. Except him, of course.

He took the key from his pocket and opened the door.

In the middle of the room a great black piano stood proud and alone. Various papers were scattered on top of it.

Other than he piano, the room was empty.

He walked over to the piano and sat down. It was long since he'd last touched it. Lifting the lid, he was surprised to find his hands shaking.

He knew that was not supposed to be doing this. But the man who could so easily make others do exactly what he wanted them to do, had no control over himself. He was powerless if front of his inner fears and wishes.

So he laid his hands down on the smooth ivory keys.

One by one, seemingly on their own accord, his fingers started to press the keys. One, another, a whole bar now, and another, and the first song was soon followed by another and yet another.

Before he even noticed, he was drowning in the music, letting it wash over him.

There was no way he could stop now…

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In the other end of the house, a young woman opened her eyes having no idea what had waken her.

It was a few moment later when she started to hear it. _The music_.Beautiful, intoxicating music. Played so passionately that she thought she would cry.

A smile spread across her face. _She knew that music_.

_Thank you, my Angel_. _I shall sleep well tonight_.

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Thank you very much to all who still continued to read even after such a long absence.

I know that it was very short, too short probably, but other ways you would've waited forever for this chapter. I thought sooner but shorter was better…

I'm back from Vienna (as you can see), it was great. So great actually, that I decided to write down the drafts for this story. From now on I'll try to update biweekly, or at least once a month.

One more thing: no matter whether you love it or hate it or something in-between, or whether it left you completely cold, please review. Feedback is extremely important, because without it I don't understand whether what I do is good or crap. And I don't know what's wrong, then how am I supposed to improve this?

Oh-kay, forgive me my ranting, let's move on, shall we? Time for review responses.

PS: Did I mention that I bought the sheetmusic for the POTO film? I can play Learn To Be Lonely on my piano now…

**Twinkle22: **I hope I didn't disappoint you. But I promise they will meet and Erik's real reaction will come, too. Probably in the next (or at really extreme case the one after the next) chapter. I hope this time was better? I mean, two weeks is better than five months, right:D Thanks for reviewing and I hope you enjoyed this!

**Pertie: **It's great that you liked it!

Yes, I absolutely love travelling. I travel as often as possible (and sometimes even when it's not possible:D). But then again, show me someone who doesn't like travelling…

Actually, no, I'm not English. English is my second language. But yes, I've learned British English and my English is more British than American. Or at least it's supposed to be…

Thank you for reviewing and I hope you liked this chapter!

**Moderndaybattosai: **Thank you for the compliments! Not such a long wait, this time…


	9. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I do not own the story of the Phantom of the Opera. I'm borrowing the story and its characters without the intention of making any profit from it. The original story belongs to Gaston Leroux, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, Mrs. Susan Kay and other authors who have copyrighted their versions of the Phantom. The song used belongs to James Blunt and is from his album Back To Bedlam © 2004 Custard Records.

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_**A Whole New World**_

**_Chapter 7 _**

_I guess it's time I run far, far away_;_ find comfort in pain,  
All pleasure's the same_:_ it just keeps me from trouble_._  
Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray_._  
I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble_._  
It's more than just words_:_ it's just tears and rain_.

_Tears and Rain by James Blunt_

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Erik really wasn't surprised when his first thought upon waking up had been of _her_. Christine. What did surprise him, however, was that his second thought was not of her, but of the girl in his household, who was ironically named Christine Daaé. He had expected to be able to forget about them both, but he discovered it wasn't quite that easy.

By dinnertime he had grown so frustrated with his inability to concentrate that he decided he just had to see that Christine Daaé, whoever she might be.

And when it was time for his late-night drink, he had asked John to organise that meeting as soon as possible. He couldn't wait any more than was absolutely necessary.

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When Christine finished her duties and returned to their bedroom, she found only Isabelle there.

"Oh, hi," the young maid greeted Christine. "So you've finished at last. You really don't have to be so careful. Trust me; no-one cares whether the corners of room 101 are sparkling or not."

Christine frowned at that. "But it's our job and we should do it as well as possible. Have everyone else finished already?"

"But of course. You know Lorette and Lauren. When have they ever paid much attention to their duties?" said Isabelle offhandedly. But then, remembering something, her eyes lit up and she turned to Christine: "I have much more exiting news for you. We are to meet our Master tomorrow. Great, isn't it?"

"Monsieur Destler? That's surprising. I thought… Didn't the girl who works in the kitchens, Marie or Maria-

"Marianne," Isabelle corrected.

"- say that he was a bit reclusive and that she has never seen him?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "That's exactly why it's so great to meet him. The others have worked here for years and still they haven't seen more than just a glimpse of him. We just came and already we're meeting him. Don't you think it's exiting?"

"Absolutely wonderful. What time do we have to be ready?" said Christine dryly. Her voice held none of the excitement so obvious in Isabelle's. She was too tired to even be able to think properly, let alone consider this meeting or the man himself.

"After he has his breakfast. Around ten or so. The meeting will take place in the 'smaller library', whatever that may be. But we were told to go to the kitchens first. Mrs. Hutchison will take us from there."

"The smaller library? This we were not shown, were we?"

"No, I don't think so. But they only showed us the ones in need of cleaning, not all rooms. It will take forever to get to know every single room in this house," said Isabelle with a slight smile. "This is the biggest house I've ever seen. But then again, I haven't really seen too many houses. After all, I was born and raised –"

Christine knew that cutting off people was both improper and offensive, but she also realised this could go on forever, as Isabelle was rather talkative. She'd go on and on about her home village and all the people there and then she would start with 'what if's', like what if she was born in some other place and so on.

Christine really wasn't in the mood for this, so she risked offending her friend and stopped her. "Alright, thank you for telling me. But I'm really tired; I think I'll go to bed now. I haven't slept properly since… for a long time."

"Of course. You look like you need some rest. Goodnight and sleep well." Luckily, Isabelle didn't seem to be insulted or offended.

The room fell into silence as Christine lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.

It was some time later when the silence was broken by Christine.

"Isabelle? Did you… did you hear music playing last night?"

"Music? No, I don't think so. At least I don't remember. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I vaguely remember something… But it was probably just a dream. Goodnight," Christine replied.

"Goodnight."

It wasn't long until both girls fell asleep.

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It was raining when Christine woke up.

It continued to pour as she went through her duties and before she even noticed, it was a quarter to ten. She quickly finished the room she had been cleaning and hurried to the bedroom she shared with Isabelle, Lauren and Lorette to try to make herself as presentable as possible before meeting her Master. Then, accompanied by Isabelle and Lorette, they hurried to the kitchens located quite close to their room. There they found Mrs. Hutchison already waiting for them along with others. She said nothing, merely frowned at them and asked them all to follow her.

She led them to a sitting room of sorts, ordered them all to sit down and disappeared behind a door. She came out five minutes later with a list in her hands.

She called André's name and told him to go through the same door she herself had used. After André it was Julien and after him François. Then it was Lorette and Lauren. After Lauren, Isabelle was called. Christine was already beginning to think it would never be her turn when she realised there actually was no-one else left.

Which meant she would be the next one.

She turned her attention from her hands to the window and the grey curtain of rain behind it.

She had to admit it; she was extremely anxious.

She was surprised to find that she was nervous. Of course, the man she was about to see for the first time was the one who provided her with a job (and therefore with a roof over her head and a loaf of bread in her hands) but still he was just a man. Probably like the aristocrats like all those she had met back in France: an ignorant, stuck-up fool who cared for nothing but money.

_Or he could easily be nice, like Lady Matthew_, she thought. Why else would he have agreed to employ them all? And surely Lady's friends were as nice as she herself was.

Then again, she had never met the Lady herself and had only heard rumours. There was nothing to prove her that Lady Matthew really was as amiable as she had been made out to be.

Christine's further wonderings were interrupted by Mrs. Hutchison, who called her name. Realising then that the girl was the only occupant of the room, she simply held the door open for her.

As soon as Christine had stepped over the threshold, the door was closed behind her. She found herself standing in a large room. Its walls were covered with bookcases and a few well-chosen paintings. On the floor there was a beautiful Persian carpet that seemed to remind her of another she had seen somewhere. _Maybe in Raoul's study? No_…

She took another step forward…

…and froze.

_It cannot be! _The man sitting behind the desk was a man she new very well indeed.

_Erik… Oh please, it cannot be! I must be hallucinating! _

She had to fight the urge to run away. Breathing deeply, she braced herself for whatever was about to come.

He raised his head and for a brief moment, their eyes locked.

_Christine… _Erik didn't feel half as surprised as he thought he should have. So it was her. Wasn't that what he had expected, deep in his subconscious? After all, how many women could there possibly be in this world who were named Christine Daaé?

But still. He hadn't been ready to ever meet her again when she had left him behind that night and gone with that boy.

And now she was here. Standing so close to him.

He wasn't going to show any emotion. She was just an acquaintance of his and he was merely surprised that she was working for him. That was all. No more, no less.

He took a deep breath. And another. Just in case. Making sure he was not going to have a heart attack right there and now, he stood up and took a few steps toward her.

Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be shaking. He touched his mask lightly, to ensure himself it was still in place. Then, his emotions completely in check, he started talking: "Madame La Vicomtesse."

Her eyes flew open upon hearing his voice, one that she had loved so much once. But he continued, paying her no attention whatsoever. It was as if he wasn't really talking to her, but to someone or something else. The wall, perhaps.

"I must admit that I'm surprised, milady. You are by far the last person I expected to discover among my staff. May I ask, what brings you here?"

Christine was astounded by his calmness. When she recognised it to be him sitting behind the table, she had expected a screaming, shouting, throwing things. Anything but this. She had seen his temper and knew how mad he could get. And she remembered well enough the pain in his eyes when she had left him behind. Back then, she had reassured herself with the thought that it was what he wanted; he had sent her away himself, hadn't he? Thinking back to it later, she was not quite so sure.

But whatever the circumstances, she had left behind a broken man. And yet he was standing there as if nothing had ever happened between them. How could he possibly be so calm?

He could feel all his old demons coming out of hiding. No matter how hard he tried, the sudden desire and the love he had had so long ago resurfaced. She was so near, he could reach out and touch her…

No he couldn't. He didn't love her any more, of course not. She was just another painful aspect of his past. He'd get rid of her and go back to the life he had lived before he read her name on that paper.

_Damn her_, he inwardly cursed. She seemed to have that tendency of appearing exactly when he thought his life was finally his. She came and she took. And then she left, leaving behind only bitter memories and broken souls.

"Is something wrong, Madame? You seem a bit pale to me." His voice was as far from caring as possible, she thought. The question was so empty and pointless, yet it required an answer.

"I… I'm no longer a Madame," she managed to utter.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I caught that." His voice was still colder than ice.

"I no longer am Madame de Chagny. In fact, I never was."

Her remark was met with silence.

They just stood there for a while, neither of them able to say anything. Erik had to force his mouth to voice the question.

"What do you mean by that?"

He no longer spoke to her with his earlier frigidness. Now his voice was full of emotions Christine couldn't understand. All she knew was that this last question suddenly seemed to be one of the hardest she had ever had to answer.

"You see…Raoul, I mean, Monsieur Le Vicomte De Chagny, he – he…"

She stopped, unable to go on. She had tried to bury herself in work from the day she arrived at Lady Matthew's house; she had tried to do anything to keep herself from thinking about him.

"Well?"

His voice cut through her like a knife. She wanted nothing more that to turn around and run away. But she knew very well that she couldn't.

"He died before our wedding." There. She had done it; she had said it out loud. _That wasn't so hard, was it?_

"I see."

Again silence. _What is going to happen now_, Christine wondered.

Erik turned around and went back to the table. Using his last fraction of self-control, he once again placed on his face that stony mask that hid all his real emotions.

"You may go."

And with that, he sat down and once again dived into paperwork. Christine curtseyed, even though she doubted he even noticed her any more. Then she turned and left the room practically running.

Once outside, the tears could come.

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As soon as the door closed behind her, Erik's self-control crumbled like the walls of Jericho.

_It's impossible, impossible, impossible_._ It just cannot be! My Lord, why do you punish me yet again? Have you not had enough time to torture me already? _

He stood, his hands leaning heavily on the table in front of him. There were those memories, playing over and over in his head.

_Angel of Music you deceived me!_

_Christine forgive me, please forgive me… I did it all for you and all for nothing!_

The memories were like a piece if music: they started with a piano, then came a crescendo until it reached forte and even forte fortissimo.

_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?_

And then it was the diminuendo and then the end, a beautiful piano pianissimo.

_Christine I love you…_

Was he truly cursed to love her forever?

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Once again, too long. I'm sorry, I really am. It was an extremely difficult chapter to write. Also, I was in Egypt since December 30th and only just got back yesterday. I actually finished the chapter right before leaving, it had to be betaed before uploading, so that took some time, too.

But to make up for it, this is the longest chapter so far and it's betaed, as you already gathered. For that, I have to thank bobmcbobbob1 who did it. You have no idea how grateful I am!

Next chapter should come sooner, as I've already written some of it. Or actually, the next part will be the second interlude.

Please, please, please tell me what you think about it. As I already said, it was a very difficult chapter to write and I'm not entirely happy with it (in fact, I think I don't like it at all). So your opinions are vital.

I would like to note that from now on I won't reply to your reviews in the chapters but using the review reply feature on ffdotnet. However, if you have a question and can't log in or don't have an account, I'll still answer that in the next chapter after you review.

Thank you's go out to **Twinkle22**, **Pertie**, **bobmcbobbob1**, **lurkerphan**(this one's quite a bit longer;D), **scully35**, **MetalMyersJason**, **moderndaybattosai**(hehe… thanks!) and **tink20** for reviewing. I'll go and reply to your reviews as soon as I've uploaded this.

Once more, huge thanks to Larissa for helping me with it and to everyone else: I hope you liked this chapter. Please review and tell me what you think.


	10. The Second Interlude

Disclaimer: For a hundredth time, I do not own it! I own nothing except the plot and OC's. All credit goes to GL, ALW, SK and Billy Joel for the song.

A/N: Thanks to Larissa for betaing this!

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_**A Whole New World**_

_**Chapter 7 **_

_She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you,  
she can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you  
and she'll take what you give her as long as it's free,  
Yeah she steals like a thief but she's always a woman to me.  
_

_She's Always A Woman, by Billy Joel_

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Never had he guessed that a woman would be the downfall of the infamous Phantom of the Opera. Of course he had always known that he was bound to make a mistake somewhere, sometime. After all, he was merely a human.

But he hadn't ever thought he would make the mistake of falling in love.

All his life he had known no woman could ever love him. It had started with his mother, a woman whose strongest feeling regarding her son was fear. Next came the beautiful young gypsy girls, with dark hair and dark eyes and luscious bodies. They always hurried past his cage never sparing a glance.

And then there was _she_. Beautiful, innocent Luciana who had known nothing of the horrors of the world. She had almost made him believe she cared for him. Until she demanded that he take his mask off. For years afterwards, he had had nightmares where she screamed and fell down from the roof over and over and over.

He had sworn never to look twice at a woman after that.

He had managed to keep this rule in Persia. All the beautiful harem girls, who tried to win over the shah's most trusted advisor and the Khanum's favourite plaything, had failed. He never gave them the time of the day.

It was in Paris where all his rules were broken.

It started with Antoinette Giry, the first woman ever to be something else than cruel to him. It was a strange relationship, based on mutual respect and trust, if there ever was such a thing in Erik's world. She was nine years older than him and the closest thing to a mother he had ever had.

But Mme. Giry was nothing compared to Christine. The young chorus girl had enchanted him the moment he first set his eyes on her. It was neither lust nor love that he felt for her; it was compassion.

No-one had taught Erik compassion. No-one had taught him to care for others; he was a selfish creature through and through. So it was new to him, to feel sorry for that mere slip of a girl. She was alone in this world, much like himself. And he found himself wanting nothing more than to make her smile again, to make her dreams come true. So he became her Angel.

He was her teacher, her father, her friend. She was his inspiration. And he thought that it was enough. But somehow he became so caught up in this game that he didn't notice how tangled he was in his own web. Being everything a child wanted was not good enough for him anymore; he now wanted to become everything a young woman would want.

One night, he had watched her dance. She wasn't the best dancer in the chorus, but there was something intoxicating in the way her barely-sixteen-year-old body moved. He caught himself following her every move, every stretch, every turn, every pirouette. It was the first night he realised she was more than just a student.

From then on, things only got worse. He found himself falling faster and deeper than he could've imagined for a girl who didn't even know who he was. He fell until the very bottom, until his love had turned into an obsession.

How he regretted that now! With just a bit more self-control he could've avoided a disaster. But a disaster was exactly what followed. In less than six months, he managed to lose her along with everything else he had. His pride, his power… She took everything, leaving behind a broken man. No longer an angel, he had discovered how painful it was to land in hell when one fell from the heavens.

For days he was neither dead nor alive, wasting away in the cold and damp cellars of the Paris Opera. Silently cursing himself for letting Christine into his heart, his only wished for death.

It was Nadir Khan who found him. The Persian Daroga had saved Erik's life once and he did it again. Somehow, he had managed to follow Erik's trail across the whole of Europe to France. Once in Paris, the tales of the Opera Ghost led him to the Paris Opera.

But finding Erik was only the beginning. Days spent without food or water had made him weak and that weakness paired with many untended wounds had given him a high fever. Erik was a strong man, but even he had his limits.

He didn't die. It took seven days before Erik regained consciousness and two weeks before the former Phantom could stand or walk again, but it didn't matter. He was alive. And that, thought Nadir, was a miracle in itself.

Although Erik's body might have been doing well, his mind, however, was in state of turmoil. He was plagued by endless dreams of Christine, dreams which made him scream and writhe in his bed. Awake, he did his best not to think about her. On those rare moments when he succeeded, he thought about the future. He no longer had a place to live. Neither did he see any reason for living. Death seemed a good enough option. But Erik wasn't about to commit suicide; he had always regarded it as the coward's way out. Had he been alone, he might have just slowly withered away. But he wasn't alone and Nadir forced him to stay alive.

It was the Persian who sold the house Erik had bought for Christine, acquired tickets to London even though it was the high season and most ships were full. Nadir was the one who bought a new house in England. Away from civilisation, in the wilderness of Cornwall this house was the perfect hiding place for the former Phantom of the Opera.

Looking back to it now, all this seemed unreal and dream-like to Erik. He himself had been thinking of Christine the whole time. He had hoped that by letting her go he would free not only her but himself, too. This obsession had gone too far, had made him make mistakes so unlike him. But freeing her only succeeded in making his love for her even stronger.

It took Erik three months before he finally sat down behind the piano Nadir had bought. He didn't thank his friend for being thoughtful. Instead he played a few simple tunes and then started listing the piano's numerous faults. But the Persian didn't mind too much: this meant that his friend was on the road to recovery.

Nadir was right. The music had always been Erik's whole being and its absence had almost destroyed him. Only music could heal the wounds Christine had left. And now that he had his music back, he was slowly, but surely getting better.

The worst was over, but for Nadir, many problems were only beginning to surface. The main thing on his mind was the future. Erik had enough money to live comfortably for quite a few years. But what would happen when these years are up? Where would his masked friend go then? Would he have to move to another godforsaken cellar under some other opera house?

Erik knew very well that Nadir's actions had only been done out of worry for his wellbeing. But still, it was hard to not grind his teeth thinking about how Nadir had taken a few sheets of his music and sent them to various opera houses. And how he had invited Amelia Alexandra Anastasia Alexis, Lady Matthew (or Quadruple A as Erik later started to call her), daughter of Lord Adrian Alexis to dine with them.

Dining with anyone he didn't know (or even people he did know – Nadir or his servants) was something Erik never did. Dining with someone who always introduced herself by her full name and her father's name, who only read three sentences from any book (the first, the last and one someplace in the middle), who changed toilettes at least five times a day, who never carried the same handkerchief for more than two hours (even if it stayed clean) and who – God forbid – had a _title_, was definitely out of question.

Nadir's plan would have been doomed had Amelia Alexandra Anastasia Alexis been just like any other aristocrat. But she wasn't. She had always loved music and after the death of her husband, it became her only consolation. Her influence as a Patron brought more and more music to the London Royal Theatre in Convent Garden. And when the managers received a letter accompanied with a few sheets of music from some unknown composer, she was intrigued. There were two short arias, one for a soprano, the second for a tenor and a duet for both a tenor and a soprano. Also, a few shorter etudes and concerto for piano and violin. The music was perfect for a gala concert they were planning. As the letter was signed "Lord Destler", it was decided that Lady Matthew would be best fitted to visit the aristocratic composer.

She sent a letter and in response, received an invitation to lunch. However, the day this lunch was to take place, she got a letter from a mister Nadir Khan, telling her that the lunch had been cancelled. It had all been a mistake and he was sorry they were causing her Ladyship any inconvenience.

No-one had ever cancelled on Lady Matthew. And this man had not bothered to write the letter himself or to even make up a legitimate explanation for his behaviour? Furious for such disrespect, she decided that she just had to have lunch with that Lord Destler. She didn't have to think long to make an excuse for herself. The letter had arrived later than it should have, so she had a perfectly valid excuse to show up at the Destler manor – saying she had left early and received no letter. And that was exactly what she did.

To say that Erik was shocked when a random woman showed up at his doorstep would've been an understatement. And once Nadir had been forced to explain the whole situation to his friend, he was also furious. In his point of view, the Daroga had gone too far. Inviting people to _his_ home was definitely out of line.

When Lady Matthew heard that Lord Destler wasn't going to receive her, she did something no-one who knew her would have expected of her. She just marched past the protesting secretary (who, as she suspected, wasn't really a secretary) and the butler. The house was big and she knew that it would be nearly impossible to find the Master, if he really wanted to hide. But she played her cards on the simple human trait – curiosity. She knew that if it were she herself in such a situation, she would definitely want to see the person who was willing to break all rules of etiquette just to meet her.

She was right. She was wandering down another hall, with a couple of maids following her (they thought they hid very well, but they were actually rather visible), when the butler approached her, saying that Lord Destler had decided to receive her and that she should come with him.

Erik still remembered that first meeting, even though it took place more than three years ago. She certainly wasn't the weak, opinion-less kind of woman he had been expecting. To start with, she was furious with him for cancelling the lunch. And she didn't try to hide her anger. The moment she entered his study, she began yelling at him. All this was very new to Erik. His mother had never cared enough to actually be angry at him. True, Christine had yelled at him, but it had been in a moment when he himself had been bordering on insanity. Had he been calm, she wouldn't have dared.

And this woman, a complete stranger, had done what no-one before her had. That was quite enough for Erik to develop a sort of respect for her. This respect was what caused him to actually listen to her. She wanted the right to use some of his music. And she wanted him to write more.

Strangely enough, Erik found himself agreeing. Later he assumed it was his natural wish for recognition and praise, something he had tried to fight for so long. But he gave in. It was a decision he didn't regret. The success was immediate. The first concert was followed by many others and Erik found himself writing down almost every melody he had ever thought of. Or at least those that weren't too dark for the public.

The first opera written under the name of Erik Destler premiered in not more or less than five opera houses all over the Europe at the same time. The European aristocracy, tired of wars and revolutions, welcomed any new trend with open arms. And Erik's music became very fashionable indeed.

A young, inexperienced ballet dancer had destroyed his old life. An old aristocrat had built a new life for him.

And now Christine was back. But he wouldn't let her ruin everything again. He had worked so hard to achieve everything he had now, and he wasn't ready to lose it all for a woman who could never love him.

Snapping out of his reverie, Erik rang a bell and summoned John. Two minutes later, the butler was there.

"Yes, sir?"

"I want Miss Daaé gone from this household by tomorrow morning."

"Gone? I'm sorry, I don't think I understand…?"

"I want her out of my sight. Pay her whatever is necessary, but I don't want to ever see her here again. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Anything else you need?"

"No."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

John bowed and left the room, leaving Erik to his thoughts.

_The Phantom of the Opera may have fallen, but Erik Destler was not about to…_

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I know, I know. No apologies can make up for it. But the next chapter will be up sooner, one third of it is already finished. I'll reply to review tomorrow, anonymous ones in the next chapter. It's in the middle of the night here and I have to be up in five hours, so I'm way too tired for this right now.

And thanks goes to Larissa (bobmcbobbob1), who edited this. Go read her fics.


	11. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters nor any trademarks mentioned. The song belongs to Natasha Bedingfield and is from her album Unwritten.

-

_**A Whole New World**_

_**Chapter 8**_

_I feel these four walls closing in_

_Face up against the glass_

_I'm looking out, hmmm_

_Is this my life I'm wondering_

_It happened so fast_

_How do I turn this thing around?_

_Wild Horses by Natasha Bedingfield_

-

Christie hurried down the long and winding corridors, trying to hold back the tears prickling in her eyes. Her head was a mess, thoughts racing back and forth. She could already feel the headache coming on. And above all, there was the image of Erik, regal and grand in his impeccable clothes, sitting behind his massive oak desk. The Phantom of the Opera, in all his glory. Her Erik, alive.

She must've been dreaming.

The message in the newspaper, all those years (had it really only been three?) ago, had been clear. Erik is dead, it had said. She had known at once that it was him who was dead, that it was her to whom the message was addressed. She had read it and she had believed it and she had lived by it. And now it came out she had been wrong after all.

She remembered the letters she had written, begging for his forgiveness, letters that were never to be posted, letters that still remained amongst her few possessions, hidden deep underneath her best afternoon-gowns. Letters that no-one, not even dear Raoul, had ever read. And all the prayers she had said for his soul, so that after death he may be granted the love he never knew in his lifetime.

And yet… he was alive. There was no mistaking that man – she had recognised him immediately. No one else had such an aura of power. No one else had a voice with the same hypnotic quality. No one else could make her feel like an inexperienced child and a grown, world-wary woman at the same time.

It _was_ him. It had to be. There was no-one else… It had been three years. Three years without music. And now her Maestro was back. How was she supposed to react to finding out that he was indeed alive and now the master of this household?

There were simply too many questions. And no answers, at least none that came to her.

Instead, memories came to her head, memories from a long ago. The two of them, standing on the stage. His hands on her waist, his lips close to her neck. She was burning, burning…

She wasn't about to think of that now. She couldn't. Not with her thoughts and emotions already spiralling out of control.

She had to concentrate on her problem. The decision as to whether she stayed or went was in the hands of a man whose heart she had broken and tramped on. A man whom she had betrayed, humiliated, destroyed…

She shook her head. Of course he wouldn't let her stay. He was probably just waiting until the evening to order her to gather her few belongings and be gone from this house.

_Perhaps__ I should be grateful for that. I am working for a man who abducted me and almost killed Raoul. I should be glad to get away from him!_

But she wasn't.

He was also the man who had given the greatest gift she'd ever received (her voice), the man who had taught her to live. _Remember, you used to think you were in love with him, wasn't it so?_

_Not true! I loved Raoul. I have always loved Raoul.. I have! Only Raoul, always Raoul… _

If only she could convince herself.

She forced herself to stop thinking about the past. It neither helped her nor made things easier. With Erik, nothing was ever easy.

Confusion had always been one her strongest feelings regarding him. No matter whether she loved or hated him, he always puzzled her. He was so powerful and yet so powerless when it came to her. He could turn grown men into whimpering fools and yet he could refuse her nothing, or so it seemed. He turned from an attentive teacher to a raging maniac in a matter of seconds and just a moment later he was once again deathly calm.

He was so passionate, and when he sang in that angelic voice of his, it seemed as if the stones themselves would start to cry.

And yet he could kill without a thought.

He had always, always been a mystery to her.

In many ways, it had been easier when she thought he was dead. She had never been able to let go of the past fully, but his death had made it impossible to go back as she had wished during her most insane moments. Now, it seemed as if she had the chance to fix everything. And she wanted that more than anything, although she knew it was impossible.

Shaking herself out of her revelry, she realised that she had reached the door leading to the kitchen gardens. After a slight hesitation, she stepped outside.

It was still raining. But she didn't care, because the rain seemed to be exactly what she needed right now to clear her head.

Yes, a walk would do her good.

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Isabelle was worried.

Christine had been the last one to meet Lord Destler. But that had been more than four hours ago. The young maid knew very well that Christine could have just gone for a walk, as they had the afternoon off, but she was still worried.

It was because of that worry that the knock on the door made her jump. Taking a second to collect herself, she stood up and was halfway to the door when it opened, revealing Mrs. Hutchison. Isabelle froze in her position, trying to come up with a reason for the housekeeper's presence. It meant no good, of that she was certain. Perhaps she had done something wrong? Waiting, she just continued to stand there, dumbfounded as the elderly woman walked into the room, glancing around as if looking for something. Isabelle watched Mrs. Hutchison inspect the little personal touches in form of little things every girl had placed around their respective beds.

Finally, the older woman broke the silence.

"Where is Miss Daaé?"

The question was so perfectly unexpected that it had Isabelle scrambling for an answer. "She… I think she's taking a walk. It's our free afternoon, isn't it?"

Mrs. Hutchison nodded. "Very well. I'm afraid we don't have time to wait for her, though. Could you pack her things?" She swept her eyes over the little room. "There cannot be too many of them, it shouldn't take too long."

The young maid was confused. "Pardon me, Madame, but… Is Christine going somewhere? We only just arrived here, didn't we? Where is she going?"

Questioning her superior like that was not something Isabelle would have done had the matter concerned anyone else. But this was Christine, her dear friend. She had to know what was wrong.

"Miss Daaé – Christine – is leaving this household. Such are orders from the Master. She has to be gone by morning."

The young maid felt apprehension settle in. This is not good, not good at all.

"Why does she have to go? She cannot possibly have done anything wrong. She is a very good maid, always correct and always does what she has to. I think she's the very best one out of us all! It is true that she has little experience, but if that is the matter," Isabelle was almost rambling now, "then she will learn! And she does everything so well already, and everybody gets along with her, and she is so very kind and nice to everyone. And she has no-where to go. Please don't make her go."

In any other situation, such unsolicited voicing of opinion would have earned the little maid a punishment, or at the very least, a warning, but Isabelle was lucky. Amanda Hutchinson was not the strictest of mistresses, and the emotion in the girl's voice had made her smile. She, too, had been young once. So instead of a reprimand, she answered Isabelle in quite a gentle manner.

"I understand your worry, girl, but milord wants her gone. She will be given three months' salary and should she want it, she will also get a recommendation. It will make it much easier for her to find another place to work at. "

"But…" Isabelle didn't know what to say. "She has just started working as a maid, and her English is not all that good, and… You know she will have trouble finding another occupation. And she has no family and no friends besides the people here, who will she go to?"

Mrs Hutchison sighed, sitting down on Isabelle's bed. It was the first time when Isabelle noticed how tired and old she seemed. "I understand, my dear, but there is nothing to be done about it. You said it yourself, she works hard, she'll manage somehow. Milord has made his decision, and unless you want to make him reconsider-"

"I will talk to him!"

Silence. Isabelle tried to keep her head straight and to not turn her eyes to the floor. The old housekeeper was looking at her intensely and she suddenly found herself having second thoughts. _For Christine… You can face that man for Christine. He might be intimidating, but you're no coward, are you, Isabelle?_

_Are you? _

"Well." Mrs. Hutchison's voice brought Isabelle back from her thoughts. "If that is what you wish." Then, without another word, the old lady stood up and walked out of the room. Isabelle hesitated for merely a fraction of a second before following.

After all, Christine would've done the same for her.

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"No, no and no, Amanda. That's absolutely unheard of! Milord has no time for a servant girl. He's working on a new piece; he needs to concentrate. I'm not allowing some mere servant to bother him. No, she cannot talk to him." John stood there, refusing to listen to anything Mrs. Hutchison told him. Isabelle was waiting outside, unaware of the argument taking place inside.

"Fine, John. Don't let her talk to him. But then you must talk to her yourself. She is determined to help her friend and quite ready to do anything for the other girl. It is an admirable show of character, especially coming from someone so young in years."

He considered this for a moment. "Very well. Perhaps she'll explain to me what it is all about."

"Perhaps," was all Amanda said, before leaving the room.

A moment later, a young girl in maid's uniform entered the room. He recognized her as one of the girls from Lady Matthew's house. Now looking at her, he noticed how small and frail she looked. But when he looked into her face, he saw determination and stubbornness rarely found in a person so young.

"Well?" He was back to that formal and curt tone he used with everyone else except Amanda and Lord Destler.

Isabelle hesitated for merely a fraction of a second. Then, she spoke. "Sir, I… I wanted to ask why is Christine – mademoiselle Daaé - leaving?"

"Milord's orders." He didn't bother with a longer explanation simply because he had no idea. Lord Destler had always been (or at least for as long as John had known him) a peculiar man. When he said he wanted a servant girl gone from his house, John didn't ask questions. He just followed orders.

All of Isabelle's fear and uncertainty disappeared hearing this sentence, replaced by anger and protectiveness over Christine. Was this the best they could? The same answer to her question – why didn't they tell her the real reasons? Did they even know?

"I know that, sir. But I want to know why she has to go."

The butler turned his back on her, walking to the window. "I don't think that's the way you should talk to your superiors, girl."

The young maid blanched. She couldn't anger him. For Christine's sake. He wouldn't help her if he was angry.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I'm worried about her. It won't be easy for her to find another job here."

John glanced at her. "Well, I can assure you that she'll be taken care of. We will give her three month's pay in advance and she will also get recommendations if she so wishes."

_I wonder if they memorized that text,_ Isabelle thought. _He sounds exactly like Mrs. Hutchison_. She shook her head slightly to clear it. _Sarcasm will get you nowhere._

"Well, yes, but… It'll still be hard for her. Plus, she's only recently lost everyone she had and so she needs friends. In a new place, she'll be amongst strangers. It will be very hard for her. But here, she's got us. And if it's her work that is the matter," she rushed to continue before he could say anything, "if there's something wrong with work, just tell her. She'll try harder next time. She really wants to stay. And she's such a nice person – everyone loves her. Surely no-one could possibly have anything against her. Please let her stay. You'll see – she'll become the best maid you can possibly wish for. Just give her a chance, sir."

John looked at her silently, before answering: "I hope you realise, girl, that I'm not the one who makes the decision."

Isabelle nodded. "Yes, I know. But, sir, how much does Milord know about what's going on with his staff? He won't even notice if you allow Christine to stay. I know it is not something I should ask, and in an ordinary situation you would never even consider this… But Christine is a good worker. And one of your old maids is leaving, I heard. It makes no difference if you pay to Christine instead of her. Except maybe that Christine will actually get the work done. And if it is necessary, she can stay away from him. Please, please, please let her stay."

He looked at her.

Silence filled the room.

John remembered the Daaé girl they were talking about. He had noticed her right the moment she walked through the door. A young girl, so very beautiful and, somehow, so… tragic. Like the suffering heroine of a novel, perhaps. But he didn't believe the girl wanted to be tragic – it had seemed more like there was nothing she could do to escape her past.

He was a human, and, naturally, he shared the two very human traits: empathy and curiosity. He wanted to help that girl and he wanted to know more about her and her past. He could do it both only by letting her stay.

But by doing that, he would be disobeying his master's orders. He couldn't possibly do that. He was paid to do everything he was ordered to. And he had always done everything he was asked to. He couldn't possibly go against everything he was.

But then again… The young servant girl standing in front of him, Isabelle, had made a reasonable argument. She had said that Lord Destler probably wouldn't even notice when, instead of hiring a new maid to replace the one who left, he just let Miss Daaé stay.

While John battled himself, Isabelle watched him. She didn't know what to think. On the outside, the butler looked perfectly impassive – there was not a single hint of any inner conflicts. Isabelle could only hope that he was thinking about Christine and the situation at hand.

After what seemed like an eternity to the young maid, John spoke again.

"On one condition: she shall keep out of his highness' way."

Relief flooded Isabelle as she realised she had succeeded, that she wasn't going to be sent back home and that Christine, too, was allowed to stay. Her boldness and daring had paid off and she felt proud.

"Merci, merci monsieur. I mean – thank you, thank you so much. I will explain everything to Christine; do not worry. She will stay out of monsieur Destler's way. Really, you have no idea how important this is to Christine. I -" she stopped abruptly as if suddenly realising who she was and where she was, she lowered her eyes and continued quietly. "I should go. I have… work to do. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart, monsieur." With a hurried curtsy to the butler, she left the room.

Once he was alone again, John sat down. He had a difficult situation to deal with.

Having just risked his position and broken the one rule of a great servant - never to disobey his master – for the sake of a pretty face, there was much he had to think about.

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